PopTarts are good
by MarcoLover16
Summary: Just a little spare time on my hands.


A/N: Just a sort of sequel one-shot thingy to Bring Me Back. If you didn't read that story, you'll be completely fine. Of course, I definitely wouldn't mind if you read that, (wink) but it just mentions the incident once or twice, but like I said, it's not necessary to read that one to understand this one.

"Sometimes, Dylan, I want to kill you," Marco said, sighing. He had gotten home earlier than what was normal for him. Dylan always left and came home after him, of course, and then he was left cleaning the mess Dylan had made getting ready in the morning.

Marco threw the last shirt into the drawer, too busy to wonder if it had been worn or not. Some times, like these, Marco honestly felt Dylan just threw the clothes around to piss him off.

"And now," he walked into the kitchen, "I really don't feel like cooking today…" He'd been through enough torture that day. It wasn't like Marco to just give up and deal with the sin of take-out, but he honestly couldn't have cared any less at that moment.

"You here, Marco?" Dylan's voice sounded through their apartment.

"Yeah, I am," he said, frustrated.

"Something wrong?" he asked, coming over to kiss his stressed boyfriend.

"No," he sighed. Marco didn't want to be angry with Dylan. Dylan loved him and took care of him, of course. He was the best man Marco had ever met, really. Dylan just had a slightly…annoying way of doing…certain things…well, everything. But one couldn't help being upset after a long, stressful, difficult week, especially since Dylan couldn't figure out that he was truly bothered.

"Okay," Dylan brushed it off, going back into the bedroom. Marco followed him.

"Dylan?" Marco said, leaning down onto the doorknob. "Have you ever heard of simple little things like folding clothes and putting them…perhaps, away?" he asked as nicely as he could, trying to not start an argument.

Dylan laughed. "Are you serious? That's what's bothering you?"

Marco crossed his arms. "Well, not just that, but Jesus, Dylan…remember when Paige when on her whole rant on how she was impressed that we were going to live together?"

"Umm, yes?" Dylan raised an eyebrow, wondering what that had anything to do with the conversation.

"Well, I'm starting to see why she was surprised. We are really different. Okay, look, all I'm asking is for you to be more respectful of the way I want to keep the rooms." The last thing Marco wanted to do after a miserable day was to lose his temper with the one who could make him feel better.

Dylan, though, wasn't really seeing it his way. It looked like he was going to start a fight.

"So, let me get this straight, you don't think we can live together because I make a mess? So, as a kid, parents can kick their kids out if they make a mess?" he asked, incredulous.

"No, Dylan. I never said we can't live together. Baby, you're being stupid and putting words into my mouth," he said quietly, as he still tried to keep his temper down.

"Well, I'm really glad you told me this now, Marco. You couldn't have just said, 'Dylan, please clean up'? I think that would have been a better approach."

"Dylan, I'm really not in the mood for this," he said, already walking out into the living room. He hoped Dylan would forget it and calm down, but no, he had to follow him sticking with his anger.

"Well, maybe I like it to be messy. Maybe that's the way I like to keep my stuff. Why is it you that rule everything?" he asked childishly.

"Okay, just forget it," Marco said, laughing. "This is stupid. Come sit by me, please."

"Noo," Dylan whined. "I am NOT letting this go just like that. I'll be right back."

Marco decided he might as well get more comfortable by lying down and turning the television on. He was going to there for a while. Dylan returned a moment later with a few shirts and two pairs of jeans in his hands. Marco watched with his eyebrows raised as Dylan scattered them on the floor.

He laughed. "Oh, that's mature. Anger gone yet?"

Dylan sighed, looked around the room, and then laughed himself. "This is stupid, isn't it?"

"Yes. Now, come sit with me, please." He moved up so that Dylan had a part of the couch to sit down on, then promptly put his head in Dylan's lap.

"Hey, Dylan," he said, smiling.

"Your show is on, right?" he laughed.

Marco nodded. "I have to check if Vincenzo's actually going to marry her. I mean, it's a very important episode, Dylan."

"Of course it is, sweetheart," he smiled fondly at Marco after he turned on his show, otherwise known as his "life". (A/N: Now…there's someone who loves Degrassi sooo much that she calls it her life. Could this be me? Hehe, anyways…)

Dylan knew that Marco would have been dreadfully depressed if their fight had lasted through the episode. He wouldn't have been able to enjoy it quite so much. Dylan really did hate it when they fought, of course, but there were some arguments that had to be completed and some words that had to be said. This argument was not one of them.

Dylan found his curiosity in the show burning again. "Which one's that depressed alone girl that we always talk about?"

"Miranda…OH! Okay, I keep forgetting you don't understand anything. She's the one on the far left. And, Dylan, she's not depressed. Well, she doesn't know she is," Marco said sympathetically.

"Okay, well"

"Dylan, shush. I am trying to watch this," he said, annoyed.

"Oh, excuse me," Dylan said defensively, throwing his hands in the air. He laughed. "I just don't understand the insanely wonderful thing about"

"Dylan!"

"I know. I know. You said to be quiet. Want me to make you something to eat?" Dylan asked curiously.

Apparently, the show wasn't so interesting at that moment. "You want to make me dinner?" he asked, shocked.

"Well, don't act like it's such an insane idea or I won't." He crossed his arms.

"Aww, that's sweet, Dylan, but…not for lack of trying or anything, you can't cook."

"You watch your show and I am going to cook you something Mr….umm…I can't think of something, but you will be surprised!" Dylan set off to the kitchen, determined to cook a decent dinner.

Marco laughed and went back to his show.

Not too long after Dylan had set to work, there was a loud crash that sounded throughout the apartment.

"Baby…is everything"

"Watch your show!" he called out. "Everything's just fine!"

Slightly apprehensive, Marco obeyed and watched the end of the episode. He quietly walked back into the kitchen.

He looked at his boyfriend who seemed to be standing, bored. "Do we have food?"

"Well, I figured you wouldn't be too proud of me if I burnt down the apartment, so it looks like we're having Pop-Tarts," he sighed. "Damnit, Marco… I can't cook to save my life."

"Sit, Dylan. We're having our dinner," he laughed as he set out the plates with Pop-Tarts. "You know, I don't care if you can't cook."

"Yeah, but…" Dylan sighed again. "I just though that, since you were so upset about having to clean my atrocious mess, you'd be happy if you could have a nice dinner…not made be yourself. I just want to make up for the stupid things I do and how you always have to pick up my messes…I meant that figuratively."

Marco smiled, and kissed him softly. "What are you talking about, Dylan? Pop-Tarts are good. And I think the fact that you tried is really sweet."

"So…you still love me, even though you have to pick up my clothes?"

Marco laughed. "Of course, baby because I know tomorrow you're not going to leave another mess, are you now?"

"I knew it was a trap," he laughed along with him. "I love you, Marco and I'll leave a special little shirt on the counter just for you tomorrow."

"You're funny," he answered. "You leave it there; it's mine."


End file.
